Kim Crawford and the Hired Gun
by L.Ebony02
Summary: A/U: (Cover of book Anna Finch and the Hired Gun) Despite her father's attempts to marry her off, Kim Crawford dreams of becoming a reporter. A chance to interview with the legendary gunslinger Rudy Gillespie gives her the opportunity of a lifetime, but handsome Pinkerton agent Jack Brewer is about to ruin everything. -Full Summary along with first 2 chapters-
1. Chapter 1

_**Kim Crawford and the Hired Gun**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE -** Hi guys, this is my new story that I am publishing soon (hopefully by the end of this month maybe sooner). It's called Kim Crawford and the Hired Gun; it is a spill off of Kathleen Y'Barbo's Anna Finch and the Hired Gun but I put our favorite couple in instead. This is one of my favorite books and I thought it would be so awesome if I put Kim and Jack in the same amazing story as Anna and Jeb.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Kickin' It and I don't own Anna Finch and the Hired Gun.**

**Enjoy the full summary! :)**

When an aspiring reporter and handsome Pinkerton detective get tangled in legendary Rudy Gillespi's story and each other - Sparks can't help but fly.

**Full Summary:** A/U - Despite her father's attempts to marry her off, Kim Crawford dreams of becoming a reporter. A chance to interview with the legendary gunslinger Rudy Gillespie gives her the opportunity of a lifetime, but Pinkerton agent Jack Brewer is about to ruin everything.

Though her father hired Jack to keep her out of mischief, Kim's inconvenient attraction to her hired gun only multiplies her troubles. She doesn't realize Jack has a score to settle with Rudy Gillespie, or that her association with the famous outlaw will affect more than just her marriage prospects. Between her father's desperation to see her wed and Jack shadowing her every move, getting the story and fulfilling her journalistic ambition just got far more complicated than she ever imagined.

**THE STORY IS IN-PROGRESS BUT THE FIRST FEW CHAPTERS ARE HERE, SO CHECK THEM OUT!**

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**Author's Note: There is a preview of the first couple chapters here, so check them out! I'm sure all you horselovers and tomboyish girls will love this story. Give it a chance and tell her your other writers about it.**

**REVIEWS ARE APPRECIATED!**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter one: April 30, 1885, Seaford

Daybreak found Kim Crawford astride her horse, Serena, heading for the foothills west of Seaford. Her father had given her the mare before he decided riding horses across the high plains was not for well-bred women of marriagable age.

_But I'm only 21_, Kim would often say. _I have a whole life to get to. _

Without a husband you might as well forget freedom, he father would retort.

As the youngest of five daughters, though, Kim had always been able to tug on her father's heartstrings and get whatever she wanted from him, and what she'd wanted was a proper saddle. Not one of those sidesaddle contraptions where a lady had to balance herself and her bustles to avoid falling and injuring more than just her pride. Despite her mother's vocal protests, Kim soon had exactly what she wished for. That old saddle still served her well, though her father long ago believed she'd retired it, along with her habit of watching the sun rise on the praire, astride a trusty horse.

Kim's sisters, on the otherhand, had been forced to give up all but the most docile pursuits.

"Can you spell unappealing?" Kim would say to her mother who was trying to get her to _knit_. "Mother I believe I was put on this planet to keep my hair down and to live life on the back of Serena."

Kim couldn't recall if she'd ever seen her mother so horrified after hearing that. She decided that was a good time to leave the mansion for a ride through the woods. Kim couldn't dream of being left sewing in some parlor, praying for a breeze.

Shuttering at the thought, Kim urged her horse to a trot and let the mare find her own pace through the plain. Wild streaks of orange and gold teased a sky painted deepest purple as she loosened her hairpins and tossed them behind her.

If the maids ever wondered why they always had to fetch so many hairpins from the merchantile, they never said. Nor did they ask why Kim's skirt's were often coated in trail dust or why the occasional youth sized pants found their way into her saddlebag. She was thankful that they were too busy to question the obvious.

Kim, on the other hand, prided herself in seeing details. As a girl, she'd begun the custom of writing in a journal. Once the risk of Mother or Father coming across a writen record of her life became a concern, Kim turned to poetry, and on occasion, fiction. Writing couldn't be counted against her, she reasoned, so she'd created characters and events that fave her staid life in Seaford a sparkle it might not otherwise have.

Her dream, however, was to use her love of writing to make a difference.

Kim smiled at the thought of her mother and father finding out the scandalous truth of her deepest secret. All her father wanted was for her to marry a stiff and live a life under a warden...

Well those weren't his exact words but.. you get the picture.

Mae Winslow was her top character of the story that she wrote. She was strong, beautiful and adventurous, much like Kim herself. Mae was inspired by the May Day celebration where her first fiction story was published in the newspaper as her writer's name, .

Even her best friend, Grace Conrad Martinez, ironically became one of Mae's biggest fan and she still had no idea the real author of those embarrassing dime novels was Kim Crawford herself.

Or had been, Kim corrected as another hairpin went flying. Now Kim was looking to be a legitimate reporter, and no one said no to Kim Crawford. Well except her father... who said no to everything but marriage.

There was only one man who Kim had ever considered wearing a wedding gown for and that was her handsome neighbor Jerry Martinez, now Grace's husband. Her last hairpin fell and her blonde hair now flew behind her. She was happy for Grace and Jerry. Jerry had already had a daughter from a previous marriage who was almost 13 now but recently they had a baby of their own.

Kim smiled.

After a quick check of the sky, Kim decided to allow Serena to lead her to her favorite spot for an ice cold drink of spring water. Beyond the scrub that lined the stream the bank tilted at an angle just stead enough to allow a horse to traverse it without sliding in.

At the water's edge, the shadows were still long, showing little of the daylight that crept across the plain. The weather was goregous today, Kim noticed as she slid off Serena's back.

Kim guided Serena to the creek and stretched the kinks left in her back from a night of too much reading and not enough sleep. She debated whether to reach for the Smith and Wesson pistol in her saddle bag and see if she could still match her record of five straight hits on the old log on the other side of the stream.

Father would have a cow, if he knew I was behaving like this.

Kim smirked. _Eh, What the heck? _

She bit her lip and grabbed it out. Kim fashioned a hasty braid and retrieved the hate from her saddlebag. She lifted the Smith and Wesson and made short word of filling it with six bullets.

Kim croached down and raised the pistol on a rock and tied the horse in case the sound frightened her. Serena was a beautiful mustang but was also a high-strung mare who liked to take off.

She raised the pistol and took aim on the log. The fallen tree was slightly larger than a man and of sufficient age to have used for target practice for two winters. A squeeze of the trigger, and she saw the first bullet zing off the end of the log. A good shot, but barely, and certainly not close enough to where she wanted it. Easing her aim a bit to the right, she fired two more round directly into the center of the log.

Then she heard the bear. At least she thought it was a bear form the volume of its howl.

Serena heard it too and began to spook. Wherever the bear was, he'd either been hit by one of her bullets or awakened before his winter nap was planned to end.

In either case, Kim didn't want to meet him.

She tucked the gun into her waistband and ran for her hose. The faster she tried to remove Serena's bonds the longer it took. Finall she unhooked her and pulled out the gun , put one foot in the stirrup and swung her leg over the saddle.

Only somehow, Serena slipped from beneath her.

Kim was vaguely aware of the horse's hindquarters as they troted over the rise to disappear into the prairie grass. Most of her attention focused on whatever yanked her from the addle and now held her by the middle in a grip so tight her breath came in short gasps.

Her flaiding boots struck something solid and her attacker dropped her hard. Kim skittered backwards out of the bear's reach. The sun blinded her, but she could see the grizzly's proportions. When her boots refused to find solid ground, she rolled to her belly and began to crawl.

On then did she realize she still held the Smith & Wesson in her hand.

Panicked math told her three bullets remained in the chamber. Three chances to save her skin. Tree shots between her and meeting Jesus well before she expected to.

Taking aim wasn't possible, so she turned and fire off two quick shots. The second one felled the bear and he went down with a mighty roar and a string of blistering words.

Words?

Kim sat bolt upright.

The bear had transformed into a crumbled mass of buckskin and boots but appeared to be human. And from the sound of his growl, decidedly male. Leaning out of the sun's glare, Anna eyed her writhing attacker, definitely a man and not grizzly, though shaggy and trail-worn.

A few yards ahead, Serena appeared over the rise, her desire for spring water obviously overruling any fear or good horse sense she might have. Even with an aching backside, Kim thought she could reach the horse faster than this stranger could find his feet and give chase.

But with a howl, he surprised her as she scrambled to her feet by lurching forward and hauling her up by the back of her pants.

"Think you can shoot at me and then run? I ought to tan your backside boy," he shouted. "but I'll let your pa do that. Where is he? I'll doubt he'll apreciate his son shooting at an innocent man. And the law's not going to like that you probably chased Rudy Gillespie himself away. You're not with Gillespie, are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Her arms swinging wildly, Kim tried to free herself. "Let go of me right now, you jerk, or I'll see that my father has you shot. Again!"

It was a stupid comment made in panic, but the bluster did its trick. The man let her go. Kim scrambled for Serena.

"You won't get anywhere running off like that," the stranger shouted. "I'm bigger and fast, and my aim's a whole lot better than yours. Now _stop, _or you won't have to wonder if I'm telling the truth."

Kim froze at the threat. _Well that was convincing. _


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2: April 30, 1885, Seaford

The boy froze. Or rather, the _girl _froze. This was definitely a girl.

Jack Brewer had become painfully aware of the fact as soon as she spoke. If he were a man given to embarrasment, this would have been the point where he'd have felt it.

Instead, he felt the string of the shot that winged past him, the one that woke him from the first good night sleep he'd had in a month of Sundays. It was the second shot, however, that wounded his pridem because he'd stood right there and let her do it.

At least the first time around she'd snuck up on him.

Come to think of it, that was nothing to brag about either.

In an effort to ignore his wounds, Jack focused on his attacker. That he'd assumed the shooter to be anything but female proved he'd been sound asleep when he made the determination. Though the oversized shirt and trousers she wore looked stolen right off a miner's clothesline, what lay beaneath was pure female and hard to hide. Her expression begged him to believe she'd shoot him again, but her wide brown eyes told him she'd likely swoon before she could pull the trigger.

That alone disqualified her as an associate of Gillespie. Anyone who traveled with him had see blood and plenty of it.

Jack follwed her gaze to his torso, the apparent cause of her discomfort. Lifting up the hem of his shirt, he showed the slash just above his hip bone where the bullet had grazed him. Cold air hit his bare skin and stung the wound, which was only a few inches long and just deep enough to bleed.

She swayed but caught herself. "That's a lot of blood," she said, all of her bluster gone.

"It's only a scratch."

Wide eyes looked up at him through a tangled cartain of blonde hair. He couldn't see much her face, but what he did see, an upturned nose and a dimble on her left cheek, he liked.

She still stared down at his midsection so he looked down to see what she found so interesting.

"See anything you like?" he teased flashing her his famous smirk.

She looked at him in disbelief as she gestured to his wound. "You're bleeding like a stuck pig and you're making jokes?"

Jack waved her off trying to play it cool. The last thing he needed was a frantic female on his hands.

"This is nothing." He let go of his shirt and gestured to the place above his heart where a scare served as a souvenir of his run-in with a would-be trian robber back in '82. "You should see this one. It was right after they got that Randy Plotski. Took a bullet that nearly did me in. A man has no idea how much blood he's got until he's got in the chest. Train didn't get robbed that day after all." Jack cuckled and noticed the girl hadn't caught the humor of it. "Oh, come on," he said, taking a step toward her.

She flinched and backed away. "You mean you were..."

She didn't seem able to finish the question, so he did it for her. "Shot?" He bodded. "It happens in my line of work but mosot bullets that come my way I manage to dodge. Guess that makes you among the few who actually hit what you were aiming for."

"But I don't shoot people." Her lower lip trembled. "N-not in real life."

"Well, little darlin'," he said slowly, "you did today."

When she awayed again, he reached out to grab her elbow. She allowed it, but only for a second. Feisty, this one, though she appeared to be losing her spunk faster than he was losing blood.

"I didn't kill you," she whispered so softly he wasn't sure he'd heard it.

"Well, not yet," he said with humor he shouldn't have felt. His faze fell to the gun still in her hand. "You don't plan to, do you?"

She stared at the revolver in horror. "Oh," she gasped. "Oh no, oh no, oh..."

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She staggered backwards and made a run for the horse.

"Hey!" he called. "Get back here. You just winged me."

Why he wanted her to return, he couldn't exactly figure out. She'd shot him fair and square and likely hadn't known she'd done it until afterward. After all, who expected a man to be taking a nap behind a log in the middle of nowhere? Certainly not a city girl dressed in country clothes.

Though the way she slid into the saddle and spurred her horse into a full gallop was too impressive to believe she'd spent all her days in town.

Jack might have whistled for his horse and tried to catch her, but that seemed foolish. After all, if she was carrying a six-shooter, she still had one shot left.


	4. Chapter 4

**Kim Crawford and the Hired Gun**

**Author's Note: Alrighty I got 8 PMs saying that they were really excited for the next chapter, so I thought I would post the next ones. I haven't decided whether to post 2 at a time or not, so there might be times where there is a 2 chapter update instead of 1.**

**To all my new followers and reviewers, all feedback is appreciated so thank you!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Kickin' it or Anna Finch and the Hired Gun, just the thought of combining them in an amazing story. ;)**

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Kim raced all the way back to Seaford, fear chasing her faster than Serena could gallop. While Mae Winslow wouldn't have given a second thought to firing a round into some fictional bad guy, Kim actually done it.

Had actually shot a man.

She swiped at her cheek and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Oh God please forgive me," she whispered through the sobs. "I never meant to shoot that man."

As she rode to Seaford, the trail blurred by her tears, Kim wondered if she, like the man back at the creek, might now be considered an outlaw. Ludicrous as that seemed, she had shot a man, then fled the scene.

Kim's mind wandered to the description of this so called criminal. He was tall, above her in height, and broad shouldered.

What else? Kim urged her mind to think using her writer's eye to help her.

Dark hair. Longish and bit mussed, though likely from his nap behind the log. His skin was olive and perfect muscle tone in his arms. He had a scar on his eyebrow and a mole on both cheeks. He had a dimple on his left cheek too, something that made Kim's heart flutter.

She blushed at her own thoughts.

He wasn't even that handsome,

she said to herself.

Before long, her mansion came into view. Big house on the hill where all the rich folk look down on the world. Kim kept her head down low as she rode the last quarter mile past familiar gates and beautiful lawns. As was her custom, she jumped off the horse behind the Crawford stables and allowed the groomers take the reins. Only then did she realize what happened, and it hit her full force.

She almost killed an innocent man.

A welling emotion stalled her and rendered her legs useless. The familiar world blurred, leaving only smudges of color. Green, blue, and gold swirled around her.

Her legs befan to shake and her feet inched forward. The stable boy asked a question and she managed a nod, though she had no idea what he'd said. Another inch forward, another victory for knees that knocked and hands that shook as they felt for the rough boards of the stable.

She could killed a man.

This was not fiction. Not some Mae Winslow adventure with guns blazing and outlaws fleeing to a bloodless battle that killed them nontheless. This was real.

He was real. A real, live, breathing man, with eyes the color of pure chocolate and hair that matched the mahogany wood of her mother's grand piano. A man twho would forever be scarred the bullet that came from her Smith and Wesson.

A wave of nausea hit Kim and she collapsed in the nearest shrub and released her earlier breakfest.

Kim ran inside of her overly sized home and smiled fast at one of the servants passing before bolting towards the upstairs.

"Kimberly Crawford."

Daddy. She froze, unable even to respond. Her father called her name again, and Kim slowly turned to see him standing at the kitchen enterance. His glare made her feel half her age.

"Come with me," he said shortly, turning and marching the corridor. Kim followed helplessly.

Her father entered the library, leaving the door open. Kim stalled in the doorway, knowing that as soon as this conversation began, her freedom would end. She squared her shoulders and stepped into the room causually. Kim ran her sweaty palms against her legs and realized she still was wearing the trousers and a tattered blouse.

Crap.

As if her thoughts began to take over again, the irritation seemed to tighten on her father's face. "Shut the door and come sit down," he commanded.

Kim considered taking a seat next to the nearest door just in case she needed to make a quick escape.

This isn't going to be good, she thought as another wave of nausea bubbled up inside her, but Kim bit back on it until it passed. To tell her father the horrible events of the morning and ask - no _beg- _him to make them go away. To right the wrong of shooting a man, whether innocent or not. But she couldn't do it.

Her father walked around the desk to stand in front of her, arms crossed. "If you were a child, I'd know how to remedy this. Unfortunately, spanking you for this ridiculous indiscretion of yours would solve nothing. Am I wrong?"

Kim stayed silent but her heart continued to race. _He already knew. _

"You, Kimberly Crawford, have proven by your audacious behavior today and, I daresay, on many as-yet undiscovered occasions in the past, that you are well beyond any control I, as your father and guardian, might have over you."

Kim took a deep breath and let it out slowly, fighting to hold her tongue. After all, this was her father, and she was his favorite child, his baby girl. Kim could maybe get out of this, if she chose her words correctly.

"Daddy, I'm so sorry," she said. "I never meant to bring any-"

"Tarnish to your reputation or the reputation of your family?"

"But, dad I haven't done anything that would cause such tarnish. I swear it." _Other than shooting a man. _

His gaze slid over her once more as he walked back to his chair and he cringed. "Did you purchase that outlandish garb or steal it off the servants' clothesline?" Before she could answer, he held up a hand. "No, don't tell me. I truly don't care which you've done. What I do care about is how this whole debacle can be quietly made to go away."

She stiffened with panic. "Daddy," she said, words pouring out of her mouth. "I promise you I had no idea that outlaw was there! Who sleeps behind a log meant for target practice?"

Her father's expression turned from serious to shocked, and Kim realized her mistake. _Of course he wouldn't know about what happened. How could he?_

His face turned beat red and a wein on the side of his neck began to throb. She'd seen him mad before but this time it was like she just signed a deathwish.

She would probably deserve it too.

"You shot a man? Today?" he demanded.

"By the river, but I promise I had no idea he was behind that log. I only thought to practice with the Smith & Wes-"

"Be quiet."

She ducked her head. "Yes, daddy."

He glared at her then made a note on the page spread before him. From her vantage point, Kim could see the words _Pinkerton _and _Krupnick, _a sum in excess of one thousand dollars -

He spied her looking and turned the paper over. "Did anyone see this happen?"

"He's fine. He said so himself. And quite strong. Despite the blood loss, he managed to still make jokes and-"

"Who was he?"

She shook her head. "I really don't know."

"No one whom you've seen before? Ever?"

"No." She'd never seen him before, she knew that for a fact. Because she had, she wouldn't of ever forgot about him.

"We're done speaking of this. You will never repeat this foolishness. Now to the more important matter." He paused and rose from his chair. "It is a conundrum as to which gentlemen I shall honor with the duty of taming you."

Kim felt her eyebrows rise as she absorbed the statement. "Apparently you've not read that awful Mr. Mitchell's gossip column. I'm a hopeless cadidate for a bride, and tell you the truth, I'm pretty okay with that."

The first sign of amusement showed on her father's face. "Kim, darling, when you've got the resources of the Crawford family, one can never be considered hopeless, and there are _always _choices."

She rose carefully and inched toward the door. "Then perhaps I choose to go up to my room and -"

Her father caught her wrist and held her in place. All signs of good humor disappeared from his face. "You've tested me since you first learned to say the word "no", Kimmy." His childhood nickname for her made her look at him again. "Know with no uncertainty that you've tested me for the last time with today's escapade. Now - go and change before someone other than the help sees you."

"Yes, daddy." She managed to remain upright despite her stomach.

"And rest assured you will marry, Kim Crawford. And soon." Her father released his grip but held his position. "If I choose a man who will keep you in the house rather than the saddle barn, so be it. I think I'll make that a requirement to gain your hand. What do you think?"

Kim's eyes flashed as she gapped at her father, who was now smirking. She stormed out of the room and up the stairs slamming her room door.

**Author's Note: So this is bit of a filler chapter, nothing super duber interesting happens, that's why I posted the next chapter with it! Leave me a review and tell me what you thought please :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Chapter 4... I don't own Kickin' It or Anna Finch and the Hired Gun**

Kim had had enough of her father pressuring her. After they had finished talking, Kim went straight to sleep only to walk up to him nagging again. Finally she decided.

"I need out," she said. She got dressed quickly into a lavender soft dress and a black hat, after a bath and headed out before her father could notice. She was at a resturant called "Famous Phils" at the hotel Windsor where they sold the best Mediterrean food she had ever tasted.

It also gave her a chance to think about her next reporting case. She picked up a copy of the Seaford Mountain Times, when she noticed a tall man enter the dining room with a beautiful where? Perhaps he reminded her of a character she wrote in one her novels.

Kim continued to stare as the couple's waiter across the packed room brought them past Kim table, where she heard the woman say, "Really, dear, perhaps this isn't such a good idea. Look at the crowd."

"The crowd's exactly why it's a good idea. We won't stick out like sore thumbs," the deep voice man replied.

From the corner of her eye, Kim watched the waiter gesture to the table she begged for, the one set squarely before the window of the hotel's main facade. While the lady seemed pleased, her companion shook his head and argued with the waiter.

Kim's eyebrown rose, _Interesting._

Kim let the paper slide from her fingers, stood, and moved toward the trio with a smile. "Maybe you'd like my table."

The gentlemen smiled. "Thank you, miss, but we couldn't possibly do that to-"

"Oh it's no problem at all. I can easily move my things to that table." She noted the waiter's agrravated stare with a measure of glee. "In fact, I'm sure it can be arranged."

"Yes," the waiter said with effort. "Of course."

"Thank you," the woman said. "You've done us a great favor. You see we're meeting someone and-"

"What my wife means is lawmen are not people given to sitting by windows." The man shook Kim's hand, and she recalled where she'd seen him: the newspaper. She hadn't just read about him, she had cut out a photograph as a model for a character in one her books. He'd been a lawman in that sotry too. His name escaped her, however.

"Old habits die hard," he said with a shrug. "I do appreciate the favor. And you will allow us to buy your lunch."

"Oh no," Kim said as she gathered her things and vacated the table. "It's my pleasure. Really."

He tipped his Stetson and grinned. "That wasn't a question, miss, so do enjoy yourself." The gentleman spoke with the authority of someone who generally got his way. He glanced around. "You're not alone, are you?"

"Unfortunately," she said.

"Well then, it's settled." The couple turned and take possession of their table.

"She's very pretty Eddie," the woman said as Kim stepped away to her spot.

Eddie?

Kim glanced back to watch the older man fold his long legs under the table, his back squarely to the wall and his eyes on the only exit.

"Eddie Johnson," she whispered. "Oh my god."

Kim's impression of the legendary lawman Eddie Johnson, garnered from newspaper reports, was less than favorable. Looking into his eyes and watching how he treated his companion made her wonder if he truly was the cold-blooded killer the papers said he was, bent on revenging his brother's murder on that attempted train robbery.

Stories of one death after another, all connected in some way to the Tombstone killing of Harrison Johnson, had filled the papers for years. Plotski's name took over the times. Alongside the requisite photograph of the bullet ridden corpse generally came a photograph of the one deemed responsible: Eddie Johnson and, on occasions, his old friend Rudy Gillespie.

The same Rudy Gillespie the guy at the river had mentioned. Coincidence? Perhaps.

Or perhaps not.

Until this moment, her journalistic aspiration had been limited to reading the paper instead of writing for it. But the opportunity of a lifetime had just offered to buy her lunch.

**Author's Note: So this is bit of a filler chapter, nothing super duber interesting happens, that's why I posted the next chapter with it! Leave me a review and tell me what you thought please :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Chapter 5 is here :) I don't own Kickin' It or Anna Finch and the Hired Gun**

"Welcome back to Seaford."

Jack looked up to see Milton Krupnick moving across the expensive carpet toward him like a tomcat circling a mouse. "I walways assured you for the straight-arrow type, Milton, but this has all the marks of a decently aggravated practical joke."

"Oh I'm quite serious. You look awful, by the way, couldn't have bathed before you came by? You're more trail dust than skin."

Jack shook his head, ignoring Milton's jab at his appearance. "You know I'm not a man given to comlpaints, but I'm standing my ground on this one..." He snatches the paper out of his pocket. "The "costume befitting a Roman gladiator." Didn't they wear dresses back then?"

"Togas, Jack, and all the staff will be wearing them. Helmets too, so your anonymity will be easier to maintain. Surely you don't expect to be an effective shadow if you stick out like a sore thumb?"

"It's a dress," Jack said as he fought back his temper. "Besides I'm going as a guest remember? I'll fit right in."

His old friend made the mistake of grinning. Only the fact that he owed Milton more than just his life made kept Jack from punching him. That, and he still ached something feirce from being shot by a girl that morning.

"Alright," Milton said. "I can see your point." He seemed to think hard on something. "If you don't want this job, I've got something else I can offer."

"I'll take it." Jack paused. "What's the catch."

"It's a promotion," Milton shrugged. "More pay, next step up the ladder." A grin spread across his face. "I can assure you it'll keep you busy."

It only took Jack a minute to realize what Milton was offering. "Oh no, man." He gestured to Milton's desk. "I don't want your job. I've never been a man who could keep his boots under a desk for a long time without itching to get trail dust on them, and you know that."

"Fair enough."

Jack gave Milton a suspicious look. "That's it? You're making this too easy. Just give me another assignment, and I'll get out of here and let you work. I've got something I can see to for a few weeks, anyway."

Milton's eyes narrowed. "Carrying the Pinkton badge gives you access to resources you wouldn't otherwise have. I reckon that's come in handy on occasion."

"It has."

"Like when you're off hunting Rudy Gillespie."

"That's not fair, Milton." Jack snatched his hat off the desk, where he'd set it when he came in, and jammed it on his head.

Jack bit off the rest of what he wanted to say. The other Pinkerton's instincts were sharp and his network of informats nearly as good as Jack's. He'd like to know whether Milton had heard anything about the half dozen trail hands in the next town over who'd been dispatached to fresh graves just last week by Gillespie. The informant who'd promised to meet Jack yesterday at dawn had either been scared away by the shooting or never intended to show, so anything Milton could prove would have helped.

"I haven't balked at an assignment since you convinced Mr. Pinkerton to give me my job back, but I won't wear a dress, and I won't be shackled to a desk." He paused. "And as for Gillespie, you know I work that investigation on my own time."

"Rudy Gillespie's an innocent man, and until there's solid evidence to the contrary, there's nothing you can do about that. As far as what you'll be wearing tonight, I'll take your complaint about needing a place to carry your gun under advisement." Milton's exasperation showed as he pointed to Jack's midsection. "Speaking of guns it looks like you've got yourself a new bullet hole."

A glance down at his shirt told Jack his wound had soaked through the bandage again, despite a day's worth of healing. "It's just a scratch."

Milton's snort of disbelief provided a welcome moment of levity. "Guess I won't be getting a report on it?"

Guess you won't." Jack changed the subject before thoughts of big brown eyes and silky blonde hair derailed his conversation completely. "Martinez's getting a good man." Jack would never admit to Milton that he'd recommended him to Jerry Martinez after turning down the job himself. The last thing his friend needed to know was that he was Jerry's second choice for cheif of security at Martinez Minery.

"So you know. I guess I shouldn't be surprised." Milton cleared his throat. "About this assignment, I suppose I could refer the client to J.F. Farley down the street at Thiel's, though I would have to let Mr. Pinkerton known our agent was unable to take on the job."

If the taunt was supposed to sting, it missed the mark. "And I could down the street to Thiel's and tell Farkley I'd like to do some real detective work instead of baby-sitting rich people," Jack said. "Especially when that involves following them to ridiculous costume parties."

"You think I don't know about the special assignments you did for Martinez?" The anger in Milton's voice matched the look on his face. Jack refused to react. Those had been favors to a friend, not assignments, but he would admit that to Milton. There was no need.

Milton slammed his hands on the desk and stared. "You're not the best we got at hiding in plain sight, Jack. You're also pretty darn good at working for rich people. All you have to do is keep Kimberly Crawford out of trouble. The job's shadowing her until her pa finds fellow to marry her off to. If that means wearing a toga, then you will wear the toga. Simple as that."

"Simple as that?" Jack felt a grin come over him as the puzzle befan to fit. Milton wasn't usually this touchy. Something must have set him off. Jack pushed his hat off his forehead, sure he'd discovered the source of the case of unrequited love Milton had been nursing for months. "I think I've got the solution that'll work for both of us. _You _marry her, her father won't need me, and I won't need to be fitted for a dress. Problem solved."

"Out," Milton snapped. "Before I change my mind and put you in for a promotion." He pointed Jack's middle. "Wait, did Rudy Gillespie do that?" he asked more than with appopriate level of sarcasm.

Jack looked at the fresh stain on his shirt. The wound definitely needed another bandage. He made a note to stop in at the apothcary in the Windsor lobby before seeing to that bath and shave.

"The truth?" Jack asked. _Why not? _"I had a meet-up planned with a guy who had some information I needed. Figured I'd get there early, so I went out the night bnefore and made myself a fine little campsite."

"So your informant put a bullet in you?"

"Nope. I got shot by the prettiest gal I've seen in a long time," Jack said. "Tiny thing with big brown eyes and horse with a streak of evil in it. The kind of girl that leaves a mark, in more ways than one."

"Some hired gun you are."

"You know I'm the best there is."

"Yeah I do," Milton stared at him as if waiting for the punchline. "Go," he finally said. "Before I change my mind and have you fitted for a decent suit and a desk chair."

"I'm going, and I'll babysit Barnaby Crawford's daughter." Jack adjusted his hat and gave Milton on last glare. "But you're going to let me do it my way. Otherwise I'm headinng up the trail to home and you can find yourself another Pinkerton to wear my badge."

"Done," Milton said without hesitation.

"In that case, I'll see you tonight." Jack reached for the door, then glanced over his shoulder. "And I _won't _be wearing a dress."

He would, he decidded, be wearing a few stitches to bind up the mark that feisty gal had left on him. Jack left the building that housed the Pinkerton office, then turned left at the corner and hauled himself into the doctor's office.

He too a seat in the waiting room with his pride dented and a fresh resolve to sleep with one eye open. At least the woman he was assigned to watch over wouldn't be as dangerous as the one who'd put a bullet in him.

She couldn't possibly be.

**Author's note: Reviews are appreciated, thank you for reading!**


	7. I'm not Dead :P

_Dear fellow readers and writers, _

_I'm so sorry for the lack of updates that I have put you guys through. I feel terrible about it but there have been a series of unfortunate events that have been going on my end of the computer. My uncle is really sick right now, and my parents' schedules have been so messed up. I've been babysitting like crazy and I've had the..."joy" of taking in some external family into my house._

_So yeah, interesting times are among us. _

_But on top of everything I'm suffering from a major case of writer's block. I love the ideas for each of my stories and I believe that if I dedicate the time and energy in each of them they can be very successful. During this though, I request that you all be very patient with me and not to unfollow anything. I completely understand if you decide to do it but when things start to slow down for me, I _will _update for ALL of my stories. _

_Thank you for all of my loyal readers that have stuck by me, you guys are amazing. I love writing and with an audience like you, the love grows. _

_If you have _**ANY **_ thoughts or ideas for any of my stories, please do not hesitate to review or Private message me! My emails are still coming in and I am still answering all messages that come in, so please share. I'm open to everything! Thank you for baring through with me in this._

_Sincerly,_

_L Ebony 02 _


	8. Chapter 8

Kim Crawford and the Hired Gun chapter 6

_Disclaimer: I don't own Kickin' It or Anna Finch and the Hired Gun._

**Humor is everywhere, in that there's irony in just about anything a human does. ~Bill Nye**

Two steps outside the doctor's office, Jack nearly keeled over. There in broad daylight, on the sidewalk in front of the Windsor Hotel, stood a man who strongly resembled the murdering coward Rudy Gillespie.

Jack edged closer, keeping his hat low over his eyes and a pair of well-padded matrons between him and the suspect. Gillespie had lost weight since their run-in back in Oregon. His suit hung on shoulders that seemed less broad than Jack remembered, but the silver revolver was deadly familiar.

Gillespie zigzagged across 18th street, then leaned into a nicely appointed buggy to talk to its occupant. The society girl shook her head, coughing the fathers on her hat to obscure Jack's view of her face. He could see blonde hair and hands that moved as if she couldn't speak without them.

It didn't take a Pinkerton to figure out what was going on between Rudy Gillespie and the woman in the buggy. Jack's temper flared. Was money changing hands? It appeared so. Rudy made his way away from the buggy and back into the hotel, as Jack followed close behind. The possibility of Rudy might recognize did not keep Jack from getting a direct look at the criminal, who'd aged beyond his years. He seemed to wear his troubles in his expression as well as his posture.

Not that Jack cared. Even though he'd read of Rudy's supposed battle with illness, to see that Danielle's killer suffered gave him some measure of satisfaction. That the consumption was a slow, cruel death was slightly comforting, as well.

The Bible taught him that he should let go of any concern over what the Lord did with Gillespie. This was an ongoing project at which Jack failed more than succeded.

Jack slowed his pace to allow a respectable distance between him and his target, not realizing he was speeding up his pace. Rudy was up to something; Jack could feel it in the pit of his stomach. Jack glanced behind to see if Rudy's friend was still waiting but the buggy was gone. He turned his attention back to Rudy, who made slow but steady progress through the bustling crowd until he disappeared inside the apothecary that was located inside the Windsor Hotel.

_Figures. _

A man in his health probably spent a considerable amount of time and money buying potions and powders to keep himself upright and moving.

All the better, for that was a stop Jack too needed to make. Jack took a deep breath of clear, bracing air and paused to survey the surrounding scene. He saw no on he recognized, that is until he saw Gillespie sit down with following outlaws that were very familiar to Jack, though. He rested his palm on his Colt and gave one last had look to anyone who might be glancing his way.

He started to shrink back out of the restaurant until he heard a voice.

"I'll be in the dining room," she said.

The voice was vaguely familiar. Jack slouched his hat over his eyes, and followed the mysterious female inside. Careful to blend in as best as he could despite the fact he still wore a full beard, Jack crossed the lobby and waited at the bottom of the stairs until the woman disappeared into the main dining room. He rounded the corner and stopped shock at the sight he saw. ..

At a nearby dining table sat Eddie Johnson and his wife. And with them was Rudy Gillespie. He felt his breath catch as his hand went back to his Colt holster.

_A death for a death, Jack. _He thought. _I can avenge Danielle without a second glance a pull of the trigger._

This Jack knew before and saw, but what really shocked him was the woman was seated with that. Blonde hair that cascaded to her shoulders and tucked slightly into her hat. She removed her hat and Jack's breath caught.

It was her...the woman that shot him.

Jack cursed under his breath and decided that she was obviously top priority now. He needed to know who this, so called, "society gal" really was. After a half hour she made a move again, this time it was visbly seen that she was leaving this time. She said her goodbyes to her "friends" and left the resturant. He glanced back at the outlaws before following 20 seconds behind the girl.

He followed closely as he watched the annoying reporter Frank Mitchell surrond her. He shocked himself when he realized he felt a pang of jealousy when actually stopped to give him the time of day. Jack stayed hiding in plain sight as he watched the reporter pale at something the beautiful girl said.

Jack stopped. _Did I just call that woman beautiful?_

It had been a year since his late wife, Danielle had been murdered. Since then he hadn't had eyes for anyone. The new feelings that stirred inside of him almost made Jack want to take the risk of love again.

Almost.

Jack's face turned to stone again as he realized what he was saying to himself. Danielle is the only woman in his life and the pain he inflicted on himself by saying such things about a woman other than her was unnesscesary and stupid.

No one will replace her. Not even this dangerous dame that crossed him this morning.

He lowered his hat again and turned back into the pinkerton that was perfect for being a double agent. He slowly closed in on the girl and Frank, but stopped quick when he saw the girl retreat and Frank's fingers reach his lips.

That's when the girl was surronded by reporters pushing her and shoving her into a circle snapping unwanted pictures. Hatred or not, Jack still knew he needed to save her. Rolling his eyes, he moved swiftly into crowd.

He only regretted his descison when he pulled her into his hidden shadow and was now face to face with her.

_Oh crap._

**Author's Note: Yes yes I'm horrible for making you all wait... Lol I hope you all loved it anyway. :) Review please!**


	9. Chapter 9

Kim Crawford and the Hired Gun chapter 7

_Disclaimer: I don't own Kickin' It or Anna Finch and the Hired Gun_

Kim couldn't believe she turned the buggy around, and that she was heading back to the Windsor after everything. But she was and she was about to interview the most dangerous criminals that has inhabited the planet. She stepped back into the restaurant of Windsor Hotel and spotted again where they sat together.

"I apologize Mr. Gillespie," she said interrupting them their amusing conversation. "But I believe you overpaid for your fare."

A fair brow, barely visible against his pale skin rose in response. "While I thank you for returning the excess," he said, "I must protest though. As my angel of mercy, I wonder if you realize the value of the favor you've done for me."

Kim sat down in the empty chair next to him and looked at him with a stubborn glance before shaking her head. "I won't hear of it, sir." She paused long enough to take a breath. "You see I-"

"Excuse me miss."

A plate piled with more food than a girl could eat in a month landed on the table in front of her. The waiter grinned then placed similar dishes in front of Kim aswell. "Enjoy your meal," he said before tucking the tray under his arm and turning on his heels to head back toward the kitchen. Kim stopped short when she saw the plate in front of her.

"But wait, I-"

"Please join us Miss Crawford," Mrs. Johnson said.

"Oh no that really wasn't my intentions when I came here," she tried to explain.

Mr. Johnson shook his head. "Never argue with the help," he said in a slow drawl. "Or for that matter, with the spouse. I suppose that just works if you're not the wife." He nudged his friend. "Ain't that right Gillespie."

The fair man revealed the beginning of the smiles "I don't suppose I've spent enough time with mine to know for sure."

Mrs. Johnson looked perplexed. "Where is Bethany these days?" she asked.

Kim noticed the former lawman's eyes narrow. "Don't reckon you'd think I'd know." The subject was dropped and Kim's fingers started to shake as she realize, this was her chance.

Kim stood from the table. "I'm terribly sorry to have intruded on your meal. You see, I had this idea of writing something for the newspaper that would show your true self, Mr. Johnson. I've followed your career since your time in Oregon, and I happen to be among those who believe there has not been a complete accounting of things where that matter with the cowboys is concerned. However I've realized this is neither the time nor the place for such an endeavor. So if you will excuse me, I'll be going now."

Kim moved toward the exit, taking her nonexistent journalism career with her.

"Wait, miss!"

Kim turned and saw the waiter from earlier. "Yes?"

"Message for you miss," he said passing her a note.

She nodded her head, "Thank you." He skittered away. Kim opened the note and began to read.

_Time is short and mostly borrowed in the most crucial of situations. Misconceptions could kill a person more painfully than a gun can, and the truth could absolutely set a man free. Would you not agree Miss Crawford? _

_The true self of Rudy Gillespie could intrigue an audience of the newspaper so great that every one would know your name. Laws aren't the only thing that can be broken, Miss Crawford; tradition can as well. And what I believe is that you can be the best if you tried you took this opportunity with me. _

_The truth can set me free too. Please keep in contact with me Miss Crawford if this further fascinates you. Thank you for this chance of explanation on my side of my life and thoughts. _

_R. Gillespie. _

_PS: I do hope that I will suffice rather than Mr. Johnson… _

Kim was in shock. Rudy Gillespie wanted to be interviewed and explained through the words of her own. There was a series of addresses to expect the series of letters she would get if she accepted the job, in the other part of the envelope. Kim didn't realize that she had been so distracted that she walked hard into someone.

"I'm sorry sir, I didn't-"

"Oh don't think anything of it, Little Bird." A smug voice said down at her. "It's always a joy to see you in public."

Kim felt herself roll her eyes as she walked around the man. "What do you want, Mr. Mitchell? Can't find a sick puppy to spit on or something? Or are you just bored you have to bother me?" she said smugly as she tried to ignore the interested glint in his eye.

"Oh Kimberly, you know you've been my favorite talk on the _times _since your precious daddy struck big with Martinez enterprises 2 years ago." he reminded her with a smirk. He lifted his camera to his face. "Now, give me something to look at!" He snapped pictures and the flash started to blind her. She gritted her teeth lifting her hand over her face.

"Cut it out, Frank! Good Lord go away," she said dodging passerbys getting to the door. Frank Mitchell was the terrible blog writer who targetted Kim's unmarried state and her father's riches as top tabloids in the _Times_.

_Little Bird _was her code name for the harmful blasphemy that streamed from his editorial; Kim really hated this man.

"Come on, Miss Crawford! Give me something to work with, let the world see that pretty _single _face of yours." He cackled as he snapped another picture. "Why don't you give me all the details of the people you just shared brunch with?"

Kim bit her lip against the words she longed to say, and put on a smile. She'd learned the hard way that angering Frank Mitchell was never a good idea. The entire city read his column. But he didn't know everything and she could tell but the look in his eye, he didn't know anything about the outlaws.

"Is that so?" she said. "Then you'll be waiting for awhile, because I ate alone."

"Of course you did," he smiled. "So about the Martinez's. A house guest arrived via private rail car. What can you tell me?"

"Well if you must know, Grace Martinez was too busy to accompany me this morning. I have no idea of their "house guest", so you should probably go to the Mr. Martinez with your questions."

"I have, but he refuses to provide a comment."

"Well there's a shock," she said walking past him towards the door again. He matched her pace to her nightmare.

"You're quite funny, Miss. Crawford," he said in a voice that held no humor. "I'm certain you must amuse yourself to no end on those long, lonely nights at home with your lack of husband and your mother and father. And with that view of the Martinez home out the window."

She ignored the jab, and quickened her pace.

"I fail to see why you protect him, considering in all the years you've been in low with him, he never looked twice at you."

Kim stopped as her anger finally flared highly. "What is that supposed to mean? You know what? Don't answer that! How dare you? I have overlooked all the awful things you've said about me in your wretched column. Until now." She took a breath and let it out slowly, hoping it might give her time to rethink her feelings. It didn't work. "So, _Mr. Mitchell_, I will have an apology from you immediately or you will being hearing from my oh so rich _daddy _and his not so nice _attorneys._"

She raised her eyebrows at his silence and nodded slowly. "I see you don't have anything to say. But I guess I do have a question of my own."

He chuckled darkly. "Humor me, Kim dear."

She smirked. "I can't seem to place your accent _Mr. Mitchell_, where exactly are you from?" Kim noted how fast Frank's face flushed as he stumbled to give her an answer. Finally she lifted a hand stopping his ranting. "That's what I thought. You stay out of my business and I will stay out of yours." She pushed hard passed and waved a hand without glancing back. "Good day, Frank Mitchell."

Suddenly she heard a loud whistle and she was immediately surrounded by a swarm of reporters all taking pictures at her at the same time. Her eyes saw stars as she couldn't see what was in front of her. She felt herself falling until someone caught her elbow and pulled her swiftly behind a thick pillar.

Before she could say her thank yous, she saw a familiar scar.

"Oh my goodness," she muttered as he pinned her against the wall. Their eyes locked as her brown eyes meet his. The only difference was that hers was fightened and his were stone cold and angry. "Look, I'm so sor-"

The swarm of reporters realized her disappearance and ran past the pillar she was hiding behind. The stopped near by and as she began talking to explain they could of heard her easily. Too bad she realized this after the mystery man had covered her mouth with his hand.

Her eyes widened and he lifted a finger to his lips motioning her to be quiet. She squeezed her eyes shut as she heard the reporters run by. She felt his hand lift off her mouth and she opened her eyes to glance over his shoulder.

The coast was clear and she let out a relieved sigh. But the other half of the problem was still in front of and was still grasping her elbow. Their eyes locked.

The man opened his mouth but was stopped by an annoying voice.

"Oh little bird?" it said in sing-song voice. "Come out, Come out wherever you are." She felt him getting closer and the closer he creeped the closer she found herself drawing into the man who had her trapped to the wall behind her. She looked around frantically to find the exit but found nothing, her eyes deperate to find a way out.

Kim and the man locked eyes again, and he seemed to understand her perdicament but remained silent as he seemed to be planning sometime himself.

Kim felt her eyes water as she realized how messed up situation she was in. _What am I going to do? _

As if on cue, she heard a glass shatter in the distance and the scampering of the last reporter's feet going towards it. This was her chance. She ran right passed her captor and to the exit, one last glance behind her showed her that he wasn't even there anymore. Before she could think further she ran to her buggy and half begged to go home.

She had had enough of her "_good_ fortune".

**Author's Note: Revieeeeeeeeeww please(: Thanks for reading!**


	10. Chapter 10

Kim Crawford and the Hired Gun chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own Kickin' It or Anna Finch and the Hired Gun either…

A/N: Also for future reference, Mikky is said like Meek-ee

From the looks of the activity outside the Martinez house, preparations for tonight's event for the Governor and his wife proceeded on schedule. In a few hours the stately house would be full of guests. Jack had seen the list and approved the plan for keeping Seaford's elite safe and secure, including changing the hired help's garb from Roman togas to a more dignified suit that allowed the tree dozen men on duty to hide their guns and still appear part of the staff.

Milton probably wouldn't take well to Jack sticking his nose into the business Milton would soon be paid to handle, but for now Jack was still the man to whom Jerry turned to when he needed something impossible done well and fast. Money never changed hands between them, as it would with Milton so Jack called the things he for Jerry favors rather than pinkerton work.

"Uncle Jack!"

He looked up and saw the familiar face of Jerry's daughter Mika waving from the window above her bedroom.

"You better not let your papa or Grace find you behaving like a heathen, Mikky," he called. "What are you now, five? Six?"

Jerry's daughter affected an indignant expression. "Don't pretend you don't know I'll be 11 soon," she said. "Very soon."

"Can't be." He shook his head. "I told you a long time ago I will not allow you to grow up."

She tossed her curls. "Too bad. Guess? Tonight I'm going to join the adults at the reception. Isn't that just dandy?"

"It is indeed. Now get back inside. I'll see you when you're ready for your big debut."

Mika blew him a kiss and slipped away back into her bedroom.

"That one's a handful," he said under his breath chuckling as he entered the Martinez home.

Gretchen, Jerry's housekeeper, who was standing by the stove had already poured him a cup of coffee that was set at his usual spot at the table.

"Guess you got put on tonight's duty for the party, Gretch?" Jack said kissing her cheek and reached for the mug. "I'll be on clock."

"Hey now," Elliot, Jerry's horsemen and longtime friend looked up from his newspaper and shook his head. "If my woman needs kissin' I'm the one's gonna do it. You got enough to worry about with Pinkerton business anyway, especially given who showed up round here this morning. So just leave her t'me."

"Yes sir." Jack saluted with his free hand.

"Here you are." Jerry Martinez stepped into the kitchen and closed the door behind him. "I wondered if you were still coming." He looked past Jack to his housekeeper and Elliot who were now kissing not noticing him. "What's going on here?"

Jack looked at him starry eyed. "Who are we to break up true love?" They stifled a laugh and made their way outside to Jerry's porch.

"I didn't expect to see you so soon," he said when they stopped a safe distance from the house. "Aren't you here as a guest tonight?"

A chill wind blew across the lawn, and Jack huddled in his coat. "I am. Thought I might borrow a spare room to change clothes so I'm not spotted until I want to be."

"Of course," Jerry said. "You know you're always welcome here, my friend."

"I appreciate that." Jack kicked a rock from under his boot as he decided how to tackle the subject of Carson Hunter Martinez, Jerry's younger brother and the man who both fathered Mika Martinez and removed Jerry from the family business side in Denver.

His old friend had never offered details, and Jack never asked. He saw all he needed to know: a man who'd come to Seafrod to make a new life and succeeded. There was only one reason Carson Hunter would come looking for Jerry. He wanted what Jerry had, be that wealth or family. As long as Jack drew a breath, he would have neither.

Jerry gave him a sideways glace. "Securing a room at the Martinez Inn is not why you've got me standing out here, is it?"

"No," Jack said slowly. "I hear Carson's planning a visit."

He looked up sharply. "Yes."

Jack chose his words carefully. "You want him out of Seaford?"

Jerry let out a long breath. "No, much as I would like not to, I'm going to try to settle things with my brother."

"That's admirable."

"It's for Mika." He paused. "And our father. The earl's not getting any younger, and I know his fondest wish is that Carson and I settle our difference."

"Does he know what those differences are, Jerry?" Jack shook his head. "Forget I asked that. None of my business."

"You've been a friend to my family and I too long to claim that," Jerry said. "The truth is, I'm not sure what my father knows." He looked up at the house, then returned his attention to Jack. "I hoped you were here early to talk me out of hiring Krupnick. You know you've always been my first choice."

"I appreciate that," Jack said. "but you're getting a good man with Milton and I'll still be around if you're of a mind to lose at cards."

Jerry's laugh was answer enough, then got serious. "This assignment of yours, should I be concerned?"

Jack laughed. "I'm almost ashamed to tell you, I'm playing hired gun to your neighbor."

"Someone after Eugene Crawford?"

Jack shook his head. "I'm shadowing his daughter."

"Kim?" Jerry asked confused. "Why? Surely she's in no danger."

"According to her father, her only danger is from herself. Apparently he's having some trouble marrying her off." Jack shrugged.

"I repeat: Kim?" Jerry paused. "I've known Kim at least 8 years, and I can't recall a single time when she's been anything but a proper lady. What man wouldn't be delighted with someone like that? Surely you recall meeting her at some point, you must have."

Jerry decribed and Jack shrugged again. "Might be best if you pointed her out tonight, I'll take it from there."

"Of course, and I would ask one favor from you."

Jack met his stare. "Anything."

The look on Jerry's face told Jack this was no simple favor. "Should Eugene Finch decide my brother as a candidate for Kim's hand, I would very much appreciate you preventing that from happening."

Jack didn't need to think about his answer. "Consider it done."

Jerry consulted his watch, and then gestured to the door. "Grace will be wondering where I've gone."

Jack fell into step behind Jerry.

"One more question," Jerry said. "How did you convince my wife to change her Roman theme at last minute?"

"Oh that was simple," Jack said smug. "I told her it was your idea."


End file.
